


My Landlord, Death

by WinchesterNimrod



Series: Master of Death AUs [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, BAMF Harry Potter, Death, Developing Friendships, Gen, Grim Reapers, Immortality, Insane Harry Potter, Light Angst, Master of Death Harry Potter, Mental Instability, Misunderstandings, Protective Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Secret Identity, Secrets, Unreliable Harry, some drama, travelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24372268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinchesterNimrod/pseuds/WinchesterNimrod
Summary: Harry did not like to think of himself as one of those long-suffering, woe is me immortal God’s you see portrayed in fictional tales. Moaning and whining and begging for death.Far from it, Harry was happy with his existence.[Shouta's new landlord is an oddball]
Series: Master of Death AUs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2012917
Comments: 108
Kudos: 1289
Collections: Clever Crossovers & Fantastic Fusions, Storycatchers' pile of heroic hero stuff





	1. One

.

It was a lovely sunny day in Tokyo, Japan. _Sunny skies_ , the weather man on channel 'Go!' reported. _Three H's outside today; hot, humid and hazy!_

 _S_ ummer had accelerated its arrival time, having Shota's already mopey mood morph into a cranky sweat-induced hostility. He peeled off his scarf and let it drape over one shoulder as he trudged up the stairs to the entrance of his apartment building.

At a very slow pace.

Infused into the right half of the ground floor was a well-established and popular cafe. Big cursive letters Shota noticed had changed since yesterday from 'ROASTED BEAN' to 'GRAVELY DELICIOUS'.

Shota wondered if it was some sort of inside joke.

Staff had begun to set up outside seating. Propping out comfy looking chairs and rolling up sun-blocking umbrellas. Looking far too lively for Shota's taste at six am.

Something was very wrong.

He wondered if he could order ice tea, waving the tenant privilege card. Wiping sweat off his brow on the hem of his scarf, lethargy made him choose sleep. Yes. That would do nicely.

Making it to the elevator inside, he pressed the top floor button and watched through glass walls as the cafe staff went about their morning routines before collapsing against the lift's cool wall.

Seconds later the lift dinged to a floor that wasn't his. Shota stifled a yawn as a gleeful looking, dark haired European man entered. Shota's interest bit into him like a leech, for the man didn't simply step inside the lift. He _hopped_.

"Morning," the man smiled at him. Japanese fluent. Revealing no hint of where he was born.

Shota mumbled a vague greeting.

He was tall, dressed in a rich posh style that, for a rare moment, Shota felt painstakingly embarrassed about his own shaggy appearance. White, silk dress shirt. Sleeves rolled up to expose such pale skin Shota wondered if they ever saw daylight. Gaze flowing down he met a leather belt and trousers that were so dark he had to blink.

The man had money, that itself was apparent, why he was here was not. The world this man belonged to had no place in his apartment building.

Probably had a one-night stand, Shota thought.

Then they reached the top floor and both stepped out. The man continued on, sauntering down the hallway in complete confidence.

Loan-shark, Shota thought again.

Loan shark that wears high-end Rolexes and Italian shoes? One that smiled and acted like a kindergarten teacher?

Probably insane, then.

Shota was happy to follow down at a slower pace, another man's job - be it non-harmful - was of no concern to him at this current time.

He was forced to reflect upon this when the man nocked on the door to the elderly lady who often gave him homemade cookies and knitted scarves. One of which he was wearing right now.

Shota hung around his door, making a show of misplacing his keys.

The door opened and he heard the women gasp.

"Mr. Potter, come in dear come in. You're right on time," that was not the tone of a threatened lady. "Oh, and is that you Aizawa darling?"

.

After 36 hours of constant work, Shota finds himself seated at the dinner table in his neighbour's homey apartment. Opposite a man wearing his life's earnings times twenty. Shota was mystified.

If not loan shark… _Host_?

With looks like that he figured it was most likely.

"You're a gem, Miss Mao," Mr. Potter grinned, taking one of the offered tea cakes Yui placed down on the table in a wide swoop. The man moaned on a bite, "Truly, is there nothing I can do to have you work for me?"

Yui laughed delightedly. Plump cheeks flushing as she took a seat next to him.

"What is it that you do, Mr Potter?" Shota took the opportunity to ask. Placing his own tea cake on his plate at a sedate pace.

"I own the cafe downstairs since," he cocks his head, green eyes sparkling through munches and thoughtful humming, "yesterday."

"That was how I met Mr Potter," Yui pats the foreign man's spare hand that was eagerly teetering towards more cake. "He spotted me going out to get some more flowers for my balcony and offered me tea. Naturally, I had to accept. It's not everyday this old hag meets such handsome men."

Shota chose to not to be insulted.

"We got to chatting, such a nice young man you are, very polite," Yui tells Mr Potter who laughed. "and well, naturally I had to give him one of my cookies."

"Naturally," Shota nods.

"Mr Potter gladly accepted."

" _Naturally_ ," Mr potter smiled.

"Of course," Shota wondered if he ever frowned.

"Yes, well, after he tried one he then goes onto coercing me into revealing my recipe," Yui gave Mr Potter a playful glare. The man shrugs at Shota guiltily. "Which I did no such thing."

"They _are_ marvellous, Miss Mao." He insisted.

Yui harrumphed. "Nothing will ever make me reveal my recipe."

"Not even if I lower your rent?" Clearly this was a joke.

Yui huffs, turning to Shota, "That's another thing, Mr Potter is our new landlord."

Shota frowned. Finding this absurd. "Since when?"

"Since yesterday," Mr Potter lifted his chin. Taking another cake. "I've been very busy."

"I wasn't aware Mr Yamamoto was selling," Shota said.

"Oh he wasn't," Yui explains with excited gestures. Seemingly infected. "But two nights ago he won the lottery."

"That's odd," Shota says.

"How so?" Mr Potter asks.

"Mr Yamamoto never played."

"He said the ticket just showed up in his mailbox," Yui sighed. "Lucky man."

"Lucky man," Mr Potter echoed with dubious innocence. Biting into his third tea cake. The man must have a fast metabolism to eat like that and look so lean. "So, anyway," the man says, "I've been busy introducing myself to everyone here. Letting everyone know they're in capable hands - sorry, what was your name?"

"Aizawa Shota."

"And what is it _you_ do?"

Shota sighed at Yui's happy clapping, "Aizawa's our resident hero!"

Impossibly, Mr Potter's smile _grew_.

.

The background check he had requested on Mr Potter came in the very next day from police via email, showing him to be a descendant of some certain royalty.

Making his landlord an actual Lord of the Queen from London, England. Shota thought of the overly enthusiastic man he met yesterday who couldn't stop eating tea cakes, and found the notion preposterous.

Lord Harrison, James, Potter is twenty five years of age. Both parents deceased. Died in a car accident not long after his birth and from there on out his entire life was standard - for a person of some royalty. Nothing earning his suspicion or immediate arrest/deportation.

Satisfied his new landlord wasn't a serial killer, Shota went about his morning. Fresh from an entire day's worth of sleep.

Showered with a new change of underwear, he's absently flipping through a seperate file on the class assigned to him this year when opening his front door and pausing with his foot over a box used to house birthday cakes. Stepping back, he crouched and eyed the little golden note attached to the box by an extravagant red ribbon.

On it, written in perfect script is as follows:

_'Miss Mao told me it's your first day back at UA~! Here's a little something for you and your students to break the ice!_

_(_ ﾉ◕ヮ◕ _)_ ﾉ _*:_ ·ﾟ✧

_Have a lovely day Aizawa~~_

_\- Mr Potter_ '

This man is a Lord and he's writing in cutesy hand script used by lovesick teenage girls.

"The heck is this guy?" Shota whispered loudly.

.

The box had a flap Shota could prop up and use as a handle. He used that handle to drop it loudly on the nearest table 'GRAVELY DELICIOUS' had to offer. Mr Potter who was directing a staff member on the coffee machine behind the counter looked up and grinned at him. This was expected.

"Aizawa, you got the cake," he said. Making his way over after ordering another staff member to direct the lost sheep. Again, the man wore a tailored summer suit. This time in navy blue and with a maroon, striped waistcoat. Shota wasn't aware they were still in fashion.

"I did," he said. Uncomfortable with surprise gifts. Especially by strangers.

Mr Potter hoked his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, rocking back on his heels. "Is there a problem?"

Shota looked at the naked friendliness of the man, "Why the cake?"

The man surprised him again with a laugh. "You're a suspicious one."

"Guilty," he shrugged.

"It's not poisoned if you're worried."

"Not terribly."

Potter groaned at Shota's silent questioning. Swinging his head back and rolling his eyes."You know, you remind an awful lot of a teacher I once had. Mad Eye Moody, you'd have liked him. I'm getting the shivers just thinking about it."

"ha ha," he droned. "Funny. _Cake_?"

"…" Mr Potter stared, unbelieving. "The cake is just my way of being neighbourly. What did you think it was, a threat?" His eyes popped. "Oh my God. Did you think I was threatening you with _cake_?"

Shota studied then hefted the cake back up into a grip. "Nah. Just confirming your profile I came up with this morning."

"I have a profile?" Mr Potter perked. Appearing far too happy about it. "Can I see it sometime - or _oh_ , maybe I can come over tonight and we can read it together!"

"With respect, Mr Potter, and when I say this I really do mean no offence," Shota said, "That is never going to happen. In any plane of existence. Ever. Just no. Have a good day."

"That's _it?"_ Mr Potter called as he walked out. Voice hitting a bewildered octave at the end.

"That's it," Shota stated.

Apart from All Might - he's never met such an easy guy to profile in his entire career. Congratulations Shota, you've got an honest to God moron as your landlord.

" _Did you at least like my note?_ " Mr Potter shouted as he was half way down the front steps.

"That man is going to die young," he muttered to himself.

.

"Attention everyone," Shota yawned. Leaning heavily on his desk in front of the terrified class of exhausted first years. Head on fist he said, "My threats are not empty. Mineta didn't have what it took to be in UA, so he got kicked to the curb. Anyone else who half-asses themselves will meet the same fate, am I understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Sensei, brats," he sighed. Eyeing the clock on the wall. "It's almost lunchtime, get changed into your uniforms and meet me back here for cake."

The lot stared, not sure if he was joking or not.

Shota reached under his desk and brought out the box.

"Ta da."

. -

Harry did not like to think of himself as one of those long-suffering, woe is me immortal God's you see portrayed in fictional tales. Moaning and whining and begging for death.

Far from it, Harry was happy with his existence.

A satisfied customer.

He lived an exciting, unique life as Death. Moving from one parallel world to the next. Adventure after adventure after adventure. Life was an endless sea of exploration, and as a seven hundred year old being, Harry was hell-bent on making the best of it.

His occupation in this new world; Landlord, cafe owner.

 _Barista_.

Harry was positively giddy. Smug. He'd never been one of those before.

The manual he read made it easy enough to understand.

Forging his life into paperwork in this world was a tedious one, he'll give it that. And manipulating the lottery, that was also a tad reaching. Every world has a different system and Harry discovered this one to be on the sophisticated side.

Never mind, everything worked out well in the end.

This new life is cosy, and he's content.

Seeing his new staff settled into work with customers, Harry clapped his hands. Stepped outside and looked about.

Time to introduce himself to this world's reapers.

. -

The closest graveyard was located absurdly far from the centre of the city, and Harry made sure to enjoy the walk. No matter how many times he's jumped worlds, the feeling of being a curious tourist never ends. Everything is different, even the small things like postage stamps. He picked one up the first day here, a red stamp framing an elegantly lined drawing of All-Might - world's number one hero - which was now stuck in his travel notebook surrounded by thousands like it.

Harry makes it to the graveyard, barred by a wounding animated metal gate. Attached to it was a lock. Looking left and right down the silent street of downtrodden houses, Harry pushes and the lock snaps and mends itself together moments after Harry disappears down the pebbled driveway.

There is only one Death, and Harry was it.

The graveyard acknowledges his presence through the breath and thrum of wind - at once the driveway sinks. Dropping down, down and down into a small, winding metal staircase to the underworld. Brass torches hovered around Harry like a halo in his darkened decent. Eventually he came to a door enamelled in skulls and fire.

On it was a door knocker, he scoffed and kicked it open.

. -

The reapers of this world wore black and white Hakama and were deeply embarrassed at not being aware of his attendance to this world sooner.

Harry stood in the medieval throne room, ignoring his bowing subjects while walking around and touching everything in sight.

"Pah," he waved at the flushing leader. A ginger woman who was most likely older than Harry - not that she knew. Or he planned on telling. "Don't worry, I come and go like an average joe, you couldn't have known." Clapping, he faced the sensitive group with a big grin. "Just wanted to pop round and introduce myself to the gang."

"Gang?" One of them, a child looking reaper echoed.

"Do you have any custard tarts, by any chance?" He smacked his lips. Looking around. "Feel like a bit of a nibble."

The ginger reaper didn't blink. "My Lord, you eat?"

"Can't seem to stop," he chuckled in slight shame. Finger prodding the tip of a katana on display. He flinched and whipped around to look at a display of knives on the opposite end of the hall. The reaper's followed him, seemingly in a constant state of anxiety. "Nasty habit. Need to kick it. Someday, everything will go to my hips and _then_ I'd be in a sorry state. I despise clothes shopping, don't you?"

"Can't say I've ever had the opportunity."

"Then where do you get that?" He pointed at their clothes.

"They just sort of appear," a random reaper answered helplessly.

Harry took a moment to digest that, "How…Alright. Beggars can't be choosers. You look fantastic either way you slice the melon so," he licked his lips again, wondering where he could find a custard tart and coughed. "What's the routine here? How do we reap souls?"

"We decapitate them," this came from the child looking one.

Harry blinked, "Do you really?" He asked.

"Their soul," the leader said in assurance, "we slice their body with our katanas forged from the spirit world. They leave no marking on their earthly form."

Harry nodded, showing he understood. "So the katanas then transport them to wherever they need to go?"

"Precisely." The lady reaper sighed. "Excuse me for saying this, my Lord, but I'm surprised you had to ask."

"So am I, a bit," Harry whispered in her ear as he passed to arrive at the throne. "Are these actual skulls?"

"No way, they're made in Thailand out of this eco friendly material," someone responded from behind. "Some of us found the original throne made with actual skulls a tad distasteful."

"Huh," Harry huffed lightly. Then sat in it.

Immediately everyone dropped to their knees and bowed.

"MY LORD!"

"Ah," said Harry.

.

Before long, Hizashi finds him napping on the couch in the staff room.

"You brought cake and didn't save me a slice?" He asked.

Arm over his eyes, Shota doesn't bother moving. Already knowing what kind of expression he was using.

"Don't pout, the cake wasn't even mine."

"I smell a story, and I love those." the lanky man lifts his legs. There's a dip in the couch, very slight, and Shota's limbs are hugged.

"It was my landlord's."

"Is she pretty?" Hizashi cooed.

" _He_."

"Question still remains, is he pretty?"

Shota actually paused to consider, "His hair _is_ the perfect amount of floppy. Like a black Cavoodle."

Hizashi whistled, "What a catch."

"You can have him," Shota groaned, "Every action is a pantomime. He's embarrassingly theatric."

"I should have him on my show."

"Hizashi," Shota lifted his arm slight, just enough to reveal a dry-eyed glare.

His friend rose his hands in a surrender. "Fine, fine."

"Hmph."

For one peaceful minute, everything was silent.

"So the cake."

Shota huffed. "If he ever gives me another, I'll save you a slice."

"All I'm asking, man."

.

Harry meets Shota outside the apartment building with a grande sized cappuccino. Shota eyes the cup before accepting with a sigh and marching ahead to the lift.

"I'm not showing you your profile."

"Why not?" Harry followed, angling his grin in the man's peripheral vision. "I'll keep it a secret. Hush hush. I'm very good at hush hush."

"You don't say," Shota sipped his coffee.

"I made that, you owe me. Every sip you take makes you my bitch."

Shota swallowed, blinking his silent judgement.

Harry caved with a wince. "Every empty cup?"

The elevator dinged and Shota stepped in. Making sure to hand Harry the cup before the doors closed.

He wiggled his fingers in farewell.

. -

Harry tags along with the ginger reaper wearing a new name tag that read ' _HELLO I AM: Mai_ ', to a the scene of a reaping. He fumbles briefly with the katana handed to him. More accustomed to sword and magic than anything.

They shadow travel, a funky mode of transportation that has him burping for the next ten minutes while wandering through a fresh disaster zone of a villain attack. Unseen by humans.

Mai kept flashing him stern looks before remembering he was her superior and flushing.

"Here," she said after their scavenging through rubble of a collapsed building led them to where they were needed. Half-buried under a wall of cement lay a glass-eyed elderly man, above him was his transparent spirit. Staring at them knowingly. Mai bows in respect. Harry mimics and listens intently as she goes over introductions and explanations. He's surprised at how civil this entire transaction is. Mai steps aside and politely gestures for Harry to do the deed.

Harry looked back and forth between the morose ghost and stone-faced Mai. "Oh," he clapped his hands together, "right." And unsheathed the katana, raising it steadily and advancing on the ghost.

"You sure you know how to do this, kid?" Asked the old man.

"Pah," Harry smiled modestly, "I've done this before. Thousands of times. Different method is all."

The old man eyed Mai. "You trust him?"

"He's my superior. I haven't a choice."

"Just my luck," said the ghost. Resigned. "A moron."

"Should be a breeze," Harry assured, "don't you worry. I've been called a natural where reaping is concerned."

"What could you do, kill me?"

Harry laughed, "good one."

"Can't you do it?" The Ghost asked Mai just as Harry swiped the blade through the man's skull. The man glowed a bright, Patronus light and then _poofed_ into a million sprinkles of glitter.

"Nice shot, my Lord," Mai smiled, "Very swift. Clean."

"You think?" Harry asked, slightly concerned about his angle of entry. "You don't think it was a bit too rushed?"

"Not at all."

"Oh good. I was a bit worried."

"I could tell, my Lord."

. -


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everyone, for your love and support of the first chapter. I hope you are equally as pleased with the second one.
> 
> Also very much hope you are all staying safe.

.

Harry's first encounter with an unhappy tenant happens at exactly two fifty nine in the morning accompanied by loud banging on his front door. As the saying goes, Death never sleeps, but Harry liked sleep. On occasion he would do so for pleasure. This night being such an occasion, Harry is woken from his extravagant King-sized plump bed and stalked to his door. Hair askew over eyes, draped in a black silken nightgown and beanie the world forgot about somewhere along evolution, he opened the door and has to look down at his complainer.

The twenty-something year old man in nothing but Naruto boxer-shorts, was unimpressively short and hollow cheeked. Only serving to making his snarl more evident. This snarl and fury stalled when the door opened. Eyes doing a scandalous once-over.

"Landlord Potter?" He ruffed.

"That I am," Harry rubbed his crusted eyes, parting his fringe. "What seems to be the issue, Hayashi?"

"You know me?" He asked in surprising offence and suspicion.

"I introduced myself three days ago, don't worry about remembering. You looked a bit strung on some puff," he mimed a gesture and waggled his eyebrows.

Hayashi, too shocked to respond to that accusation went on with something more familiar; complaining. "A pipe in my bathroom blew and is drowning my apartment."

"Well we can't have that!" Harry objected and all but ran back into his apartment. Hayashi stood. Uncertain then bewildered when Harry returned wearing pointed Persian slippers. "Room thirty four, am I correct? Don't answer, I always am."

.

When Shota goes to relieve himself in the middle of the night, the flush on his toilet stalls and dribbles pathetically. A second try earns him nothing but the toilet gasping in what appeared to be pain.

In a resigned sigh, Shota made his way to his landlord's apartment three floors down. It did occur to him just before leaving, that he was wearing nothing but boxers and proceeded to dress himself in something slightly less embarrassing. Jeans, t-shirt and flip flops did it and minutes later the elevator doors ding open to an outrageous sight.

His land-Lord, dressed as Ebenezer Scrooge in pointed slippers, grinned ear to ear in excitement next to an intensely unhappy short man in boxer shorts.

"Aizawa! How wonderful," Harry bounded into the elevator with unnatural cheer at this time of night.

"Mr Potter."

"You live under Hayashi don't you?" While Shota grunted in affirmation Harry gestured for the assumed Hayashi to follow forwards. The young man dithered, arms hugging his boney chest in sudden self-consciousness at Shota's clothed body. "You noticed a leak, did you? Don't worry, I'll clean everything up in a jiffy."

Shota hadn't heard the word 'jiffy' since his grandmother passed away.

"Up we go, Hayashi!" Harry nodded. Hayshi sighed and did as told.

.

While Hayashi fell asleep on the couch, Shota leaned in the doorway of the puddled bathroom. Staring curiously at Harry, who was now sodden to the niles, bobbed beanie still hanging on, crouched under the sink inspecting the spurting leak. Thankfully, his nightgown hid his ass. He wasn't so sure about his front and resolved to keep it a mystery. As absurd as a person could get, Harry was it.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Shota asked. Pausing to question Harry's qualifications when it came to matters of plumbing.

Rather than treating this as a serious matter, his landlord appeared to enjoy it.

"Oh none at all," Harry shook his head. "Quite a mess, Hayashi made. Wonder what he was doing - oh then again, maybe its best I don't."

"Shouldn't you call a plumber then, someone who actually knows what they're doing?" Shota suggested.

"I really should," he confessed guiltily. "I'm being a little naughty aren't I?"

"Think so," said Shota vaguely.

"It's my first burst pipe you see, I want to experience the full extent of it," Harry said lovingly.

Shota stared at him.

There was a little _bloop, gurgle gurgle gurgle_ and Harry is punched back by a firehose blast of water. Shota swoops under and catches him in the chest.

"That's it," Shota decides after a significant pause. "I'm calling a plumber." Wet and thoroughly annoyed when he catches sight of Harry's lofty smile. "You did this deliberately didn't you."

"Did what, my dear fellow?"

"No way!" Hayashi, woken from the bang, stood frozen where Shota was seconds ago. Eyebrows dancing in confusion.

Harry giggled, "Way."

For a moment Shota was afraid Hayashi would start crying.

. -

Harry drops both tenants back at his cosey apartment on the promise of fixing everything before sunrise.

Hayashi threatens to sue him.

Understandable.

. -

The door between worlds is exactly that; a door. Any one would be just fine.

All Harry has to do is _want_ , turn the knob and bing, bada, _boom._

Still in his nighty and beanie (magically dry) he opens his apartment door and steps into his eldest child's kitchen.

Three steps in - closing the door behind him, last time he left it open some poor pigeon got terribly confused - he bellowed a greeting to his shocked son seated at the dinner table, holding a piece of jammy toast to his mouth.

Timezones, Harry blinked at the sun streaming in through kitchen windows. Timezones are dastardly.

"The fuck are you doing here?" James demanded through toast. "And what in the blazing _shit_ are you wearing?"

Harry levelled a fatherly stare stare on him. "What have I told you about cursing, young man?"

"I'm turning thirty two tomorrow you moronic fucker." He had put a teacup down for Harry at the seat next to him. The teapot, recognising it had work to do, floated about and filled the cup. Following studiously behind was the milk jug. After that sugar cubes hoofed out of their bowl and bobbed themselves across the table to their sacrificial dunk. Harry sat down, crossed his legs and waved off the third eager sugar cube.

"I knew that," he fibbed. Sipping his tea, he took a moment to observe his son. Last time he had seen him, James was only twenty six and fresh from his promotion to Deputy Headmaster at Hogwarts. Now he was a lean, scruffy man who looked like he hasn't showered in weeks. "Why else would I be here, hmm?"

"Don't give me that crap, Dad," James warned. "What do you want?"

Picking at a recent jam stain on the kitchen table, Harry avoided James' accusatory eyes. "Where are the children?"

James slammed his fist on the table. Harry kept very still. "Shut up. Don't you ever mention them or go near them. As far as they and the rest of the world are concerned, you died on the job more than two decades ago. So don't you dare."

"James," Harry looked up at his son. There were wrinkles around his eyes, and a tiredness to him that seemed to leak out of every pore. "When did you and Vanessa divorce?"

All fight left. James sagged and rubbed his face with a hand, the other still holding his half-bitten jammed toast. "Three years ago. Same time I became an auror."

"You _what_ ," Harry demanded. "Do you have any idea how dangerous - "

"Seriously?" James laughed. For a long second, neither said anything. "You didn't come here to bugger me about my life or wish a happy birthday, Dad."

Harry gave up, "I need my house elves for a bit."

James bit into his toast, stood up and walked out the door Harry had come in through. "Do what you like. It's your house, dead or alive." Unlike the apartment Harry had come from, what laid behind the door were slabs of green countryside.

. -

House Elves from Potter Mansion wore red, tiny bell-boy outfits one would see from the Hilton hotels. Harry didn't choose the uniform, they did themselves and he had to admit, they looked rather snazzy.

Not wanting to intrude on his son any further, Harry rounded them up and sent them through the door in quick marching order to fix up whatever they could in his apartment building.

Without being seen, was strongly advised.

. -

Harry's apartment was splashed in the style of old-school (if old-school lived in the 1800s), and Shota wondered how somebody could decorate so thoroughly in a single week without anybody noticing. What stood out most to him, apart from the Persian rugs, gas lamps, fireplace (connected to a chimney that shouldn't by all means exist), exotic nick-necks scattered about and the diamond chandelier - was the pipe organ.

It was huge.

It's metallic, spotless pipes were woven, installed and expanding on every section of the bedroom wall it could find. Snaking around the gas lamps, paintings of foreigners (most likely family or lovers) and round the headboard of a kingsize bed. A bed that had a broad curved canopy and linen curtains.

Given the nature of the not so soundproofed apartment building coupled with the time Harry has been here (a week), this entire set up was improbable.

Shota stared fixedly at it.

"Right," he said to himself. Metallic pipes stared back at him. "Of -course." He closed the door and walked calmly back to the living room where Hayashi lay sprawled in front of the glowing fire.

Shota stared fixedly at it.

At last, he decided to not concern himself about this place and sat down on one of the plush chairs facing the fire.

He slept.

Around him, an invisible house elf cleaned their master's apartment.

.

Shota jerked awake at the sound of a door closing. In a matter of two seconds he recalled every dreadful moment leading up to now and made sure to glare at the man shuffling inside.

"You have a pipe organ in your room."

"Yes," confirmed Harry in his pointed beanie hat. As thought owning a pipe organ was a common instrument Shota was previously unaware of.

"And you play it?"

"Every night."

Has he been so wrapped up in his work to not notice his landlord playing the pipe organ, Shota wondered.

Harry claped his hands, startling Hayashi out of his snoring sleep. "I've got beautiful news that you will love to hear, everything's fixed." He spread his arms in a dazzling smile. "Both of you can return to your apartments. Terribly sorry for the inconvenience."

"Damn straight," Hayashi all but virtually ran/stumbled out in a fitful of curses about this place giving him the heebie jeebies.

Shota follows, at a more sedate pace and eyeing his landlord. "Is your apartment fitted with soundproofing in the walls?"

Harry blinked. "Sorry, what?"

Shota repeats his question and grew more and more resigned as Harry's head cocked slowly to one side.

"Where on earth could I have found the time to do _that_ without anyone knowing!?" He snorted a friendly chuckle. "Funny man, wait here I'll make you some tea."

. -

"How long has it been for you?" James asked moments after Harry dropped off his elves. The band of little creatures marched onwards in single file through dimensions. Passing his son who was once again, seated at the table but this time he was in his Auror uniform. A grey, civil war flair Wizards had picked up on and never let go.

Harry noticed his son's hair was shorter than last. He smelt blood, didn't see any.

"I don't follow," he said after a lengthy pause.

James sighed, "For me it's been at least a week since you last came - but before that three years. How long for you?"

"I," Harry stared at his stone-faced son, "I'm not sure."

"That long, huh?"

. -

"I'm in a bit of a pickle, you see Mai," Harry confessed that evening to his companion as they strolled through a barren carpark. Dusk was falling and Harry looked up at the cotton candy coloured sky. "My eldest son hates me and I just don't know what to do about it."

"Apologise," she suggested.

"You see, I thought of that but what exactly should I apologise _for_?"

Mai sighed and stopped walking to look at her Lord. "Please explain it to me, Lord."

Harry tapped his fingers on the hilt of his katana, "Er. Well. This is a bit embarrassing to admit…"

There was a moments pause where Mai noticed her Lord was fidgeting. This was her creator, the very Lord who breathed life and death into her spirit. Gave her a name. A meaning, a purpose. Whatever was troubling him, it must be something beyond imagination. Was she, a single Reaper, about to listen to a secret that could burn stars? She shivered in expectancy.

"I died. Unglamorously."

"What?" Breathed Mai.

"For the _third_ time and it just -" he shrugged helplessly, "happened to stick."

"You died - no - you're _Death_."

"Third times the charm, you know," Harry went on. "And it all went bugger downhill from there. People actually thought I had died for good when there I am, roaming around without a body I was only able to get back into after my predecessor beat me at a match of Uno."

Mai didn't dare blink.

"He cheated, you know." Harry said blithely. "Contemptuous old creep had me chasing after him all evening. It's always out of three but _whoosh_ , off he went after the first round."

"My Lord, what -?"

"Oh well, I managed to zip back into my body. Blasted my way out of the grave and when I returned to my family, my wife was dead. My eldest was twenty, youngest had just graduated from Hogwarts, and godson had eloped with a frenchman! I was gone for almost a decade. Timezones," Harry said grimly. "Timezones are bloody bonkers."

"I…I'm at a loss, my Lord," Mai admitted.

Harry patted Mai on the head. Much like one would do to a puppy who lost their stick. "I understand." This relieved Mai, because at least one of them did. "Perhaps you could go around and ask whether our reapers could offer advice. I'll make posters. A questionnaire. This could be fun."

"I'll do that, my Lord."

"Fantastic," he smiled. Clapping and returning to his jaunty stroll. Mai pattered after him. "So, this warehouse?" He pointed to the decrepit looking monstrosity on the corner street.

"The one, my Lord."

"Every week you say, you come here to reap these poor creatures?"

"Not necessarily creatures," corrected Mai, "we've recently discovered that they are in fact modified humans."

"Like Frankensteins' monster?" Harry grinned. An honest, wide grin that gave Mai a nervous shudder.

"I would agree, my Lord, if I knew what that was - but they do have a name. We found out during a he recent reaping of its mutated soul. One of the people in charge of it called it something."

"Tell me."

"Nomu."

. -

"I don't know what happened, exactly," Shota confided in Hizashi that day at lunch. They were seated at chairs in the staff room's kitchen, isolated from the rest of the bundled staff. "When I got back to my apartment everything was tidied. Bedsheets smelling like perky roses. Sink sparkling. Bathroom spotless. The entire collection of books I owned organised by genre." Shota leant back, shook his head and sipped his americano. Expression disdainful."This guy. He's either jumping over the rainbow gay or coo coo for coco puffs. Maybe both. Maybe neither. He's fucking bizarre."

Hizashi stared at him with widening eyes. "You don't think you're being a little unreasonable with all this suspicion?"

"Shut up and drink your damn coffee," Shota unfairly grumbled.

" _You_ shut up and - " Hizashi hedged, "drink your damn…coffee…"

Shota stared, "Pathetic."

.

Shota is a handful of meters from his house when he spots a familiar face waving at him from the outside seating quarters of cafe Gravely Delicious.

A vivacious, grinning face that could overpower a light bulb.

"Aizawa! Aizawa - hey, are you avoiding me?" Shota damn near springs up the entrance steps. "I _think_ you're avoiding me."

Face burning behind his scarf at the immediate attention he gets from customers - he risked a side glance and panics at Harry's skittering lithe form blundering through people.

Despite how tired he is, Shota hauled ass.

He threw open the glass doors and punched the elevator button. In his pocket his phone pinged once, twice, he hissed and took it out to see what the devil the problem was now -

_Unknown_

_Hey ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_

"What?" He whispered.

_Unknown_

_Behind you (_ づ。◕ _‿‿_ ◕｡ _)_ づ

Shota turned and stared at Harry, more resigned than anything. "You got my number from the file you have on me as a tenant, didn't you?"

"Look, I got a phone," Harry waved the mobile device in his hand and trotted over. He never simply walked. No, that would be too pedestrian. "Apparently it's the latest model. I got it in rose gold. hah, who knew gold had a rose or rose had a gold?" His nose wrinkled in enthusiasm. Shota wondered what was taking the lift. Harry leaned over a tapped the tip of Shota's dated flip phone. "Add me." He encouraged.

"Why should I?" Shota knew, if you fed a stray once they always came back for seconds. He also knew it was pointless to fight. The man was his landlord, and Shota liked his apartment. "Fine. I'll add you, is that all?"

"How did your students like the cake?"

Shota sighed, relenting. For all his senselessness, the man hasn't done anything to offend him. By all means, he's been absolutely pleasant. A damn doll.

The man's capacity for happiness is what irked Shota the most, he realised. It was absurd. It must be a personality problem that, surely, went beyond the dreams of psychologists.

"They loved it, thank you," Shota said. Itching for the elevator's beautiful cry of ' _ding_ '.

Harry rocked on his heels then tapped the soles loudly. "Wonderful. Hey, Shota - "

"Hmm, what?"

"Would you like some tea?"

The elevator dinged and Shota hurled himself inside with the same form and style a soldier would perform when ducking enemy fire. "Busy."

. -

"You're soft on 'im, ain't you?" A reaper wearing the sticker 'Hello, my name is: PATRICK' asked just as the elevator closed and zoomed away. He was a white haired, middle-aged looming fellow wearing a permanent disinterested look.

"Ahh," Harry shrugged, "maybe a little. A lonely, damaged introverted hero always pokes at my soft spots. I'm actually a seriously sensitive person you know."

"Hah," Patrick snorted. Eyeing the phone Harry busies himself with. "Last I was 'ere them phones had cords on 'em. Make you won'er, doesn't i'? Wha' else these human's be capable of."

"Patrick," Harry asked, "would you like one?" He smiled at the sudden child-like look of wonder Patrick gave him. "There you go, I knew you were capable of more than one emotion."

. -

Being a night of sleeplessness, Harry taped awkwardly on the laptop he had recently purchased. Resealing a cry of "ha ha!" when clicking on the lonely fan page of _Eraserhead_. Body jiggling slightly on his bed in excitement.

He clicked the ' _Anonymous Tips_ ' title.

In a droned mutter, Harry read the small segmented description underneath.

"All tips related to criminal activity will be sent to Eraserhead anonymously _blah blah blah_ basic law shit, got it. Wow Shota, you really need to lighten up this website. It's dull."

He clicked the 'Make an Anonymous tip' and began typing.

[Dear Eraserhead,

I've come across some startling information and found myself compelled to notify you in advance that some dastardly, no doubt illegal organisation has been cooking up a storm of dead bodies right under your nose! They are called Nomu, and I'm sure somewhere underneath all that decay and evil intentions there is a soft soul just waiting someone to find and nurture. Maybe after therapy, this creature might take up some baking! Make us all lovely homemade cookies (~˘▾˘)~ So when you find them, please don't kill it.]

Harry is reminded of the stench when he reaped the recent creature. Soiled earth, barren intestines and melting, poisonous skin.

[It's only the decent thing to do. Humane, even. I'm not aware of any law stating people aren't allowed to do this, but surely there must be. Some, human rights thing, you know?]

After linking the address of the warehouse using Google Earth, Harry sat back, sighed a satisfied sigh, and played his pipe organ.

. -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment your thoughts!


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid this chapter will be short - but eventful!

. -

Desolation doesn't sit will in Harry's aura. Puts him in a foul mood and makes the air tinge and crackle in ominous successions.

Lightbulbs in the chandelier of his apartment popped. The kerosene in his lamps burst to orange glowing fire.

These moods strike him every now and then. No warning. No hello how are you. It hurdles itself out of that dark locked up part of his brain and gives him strange thoughts.

And when they do Harry likes to get very, very drunk.

This is how Harry finds himself snapping bottles of fire whisky into existence as he smashed floundering fingers onto the keys of his pipe organ at four in the morning. Exactly seven hours after sending a tip to Shota's fan site.

Exactly six hours into his slate of depression.

These moods typically lasted for 48 hours then disappeared, never to be thought of for the next century or so.

He was in the middle of one of those retro renditions of Beethoven's sonatas when his phone ringed from the bedside table. Harry swerved in his seat to grab it and slid off. Face on the floor hand outreached, he willed a bit of magic and the phone floated to his palm.

"Herrowe?"

"My Lord!" A shrill panicked voice relayed. "We've got a bit of a situation!" In the background someone else growled " _A bit?_ "

Head lolled to the side, Harry faced his demented reflection in the pipes and muttered. "I'm not having a wonderfully good time right now. Could you call back later?"

"My Lord!" The voice wailed. "People who aren't supposed to be are dying."

"Hey," Harry moped, "There's no need to yell."

The voice stuttered, "I'm sorry My Lord, that was disrespectful."

"My son hates me," Harry moped some more. Toes scrunching in their floppy, pink skull patterned socks. "And you're shouting at me. I think you should know I'm very upset and drunk right now."

"Er," the voice floundered. "Er. Yes. But my Lord, please, we're facing an unforeseen and unknown crisis on our hands that has never occurred before in this universe! Heroes have charged the Nomu facility and the Nomu are out and rampaging across the city!" Out of nowhere, the voice started sobbing. Harry peered at the receiver. Disturbed. "People who shouldn't be are dying and we have no idea how to handle this - oh skull and crosses my Lord we don't know what to do."

Harry cleared his throat. "That's really none of my business."

There was muted scuffling on the line and a different voice hissed at him through the speaker, "You're Death!"

"Is that you, Mai?"

" _Yes_ , my Lord."

"Oh goodie. I've given the questionnaire some thought," Harry twirled the sash of his dressing gown in one finger, "and come up with a few ideas. What do you think of an origami that sings Elton John's 'Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word'?"

"Now is not really the time, my Lord."

"Another is actually sending Elton John to James' house to perform it live."

"My Lord," Mai sighs. "Elton John can wait."

"I know for a fact when he dies. So no, Mai," Harry corrects tartly, "He can't."

There's the click of the line dying and Harry has no time to chuff when Mai appears behind him from the shadows. He could see her in the oogly-boogly reflection of the pipes. Stalking out from darkness. 'Hello my name is: Mai' glinting. She snatching him by the ankles of his pink skulled socks and dragged him back.

The last Harry's apartment sees of him that night are two feeble hands scraping across the floor.

. -

Among the fighting that engulfed the once barren carpark outside a burning warehouse, Harry was puzzled. And horrifically sober.

"What do we do, my Lord?" The shrill voice from his phone asked besides him. It belonged to that young looking reaper he met on his second day here.

Some hero whizzed through Harry and whizzed back out when a short, squashed looking Nomu backhanded him before leaping towards the city its brethren had done moments ago. Harry's eyes followed it as the thing crashed through one building after another.

Sirens blared a warning to its citizens to stay inside.

"Is 'Forgive Me' by Evanescence too depressing?" Harry worriedly asked Mai.

"Do we have to speak about this now!?" Mai frizzled.

"Suggest something else we can do."

She gestured widely to the screaming mingled with war cries. In the distance, located at the epicentre of the destruction, a blonde girl grew to the height of the Eiffel Tower and went: "AAAAAAAGH!" with a stomp.

Harry scratched his cheek. Ground vibrating through the soles of his feet. "Reapers can't interfere with the living. That's the long and short of it. So really, this is none of our business."

"We can't do anything?" The young, kindergarten looking reaper whimpered. Hugging her katana to herself with big eyes.

"Not at all!" Harry firmly insisted. Snapping his fingers. A name tag zinged onto the girl's Hokum. On it he inscribed with black magic marker, 'Eri'. "There, we did something."

For a moment Harry feared the girl might cry. He scooted behind Mai and feeling exceptionally foolish, ordered the kid to go reap something. She hurried off and disappeared into the shadows. Relieved that was over and done with he skipped out and offered:

"Alright, Cher's 'If I Could Turn Back Time'.

Mai said nothing for one solid minute. After all what, could she say?

Then, with wonderful restraint she reported. "My Lord, I have duties to attend to. People are dying and require safe passage." She bowed, whirled, and sunk into the darkness of the brewed morning.

. -

Unhappy with the way things had turned out between him and Mai, Harry chose to wander back to his apartment building. He was too long dead to care about the heroes blazing about the place and setting things on fire.

Walking up the steep hill to his place of residence, Harry heard the tread of loud, unsteady footsteps and metal snapping. He spun to face one of the sickly, looming figures of a Nomu rushing up towards him. Mowing down lamps and lighting the street in sparks of yellow.

It leapt at him. Wide, carnivorous mouth set out to chomp his head off. Infected puss filled arms stretched wide.

Harry pirouetted like a dancer and felt it soar past him.

Dashing up the hill behind it in a dead sprint, Harry spotted Shota. Eyes masked by goggles and scarf flapping around him like fire.

The man must have gotten his message.

"Hey, Shota," he waved. "This guy one of yours?"

"Get out of here!" Shota yelled. Picking up speed. "Run!"

"Please don't shout at me," Harry said dolefully. Pirouetting past another swipe from the murderous Nomu. Not having to look. "I'm particularly sensitive this evening. Family and coworker troubles you understand."

"Fuck that. _Down_ ," Shota ordered. Coming up and leaping over his flattened body to land a momentous roundhouse kick to the Nomu's neck. It faltered in surprise and twisted back to gather itself. In that sparse moment, Shota gripped Harry by the sleeve of his dressing gown and flung him up, past the Nomu to his apartment complex. "Inside!"

Harry intended to follow Shota's orders, simply to please the man who looked to be very preoccupied, to stop as he watched one of Shota's punches getting caught in a meaty infected grip. What followed was a loud snap of breaking bone and a ringing cry of pain. Shota's arm was bent, white bone exposed and red running.

Shota was a young man, a baby in comparison to Harry. And most of all he was Harry's tenant. Lived under his roof and called it home. He was one of Harry's people, and to see his person get bullied lit a light in the desolation of Harry's soul.

He didn't bother with words.

In a flicker caught by sparks of upended street lights, Harry materialised between Shota and the Nomu. Twisted its arm off his tenant and clobbered it with a powerful kick to the sternum. The Nomu flew. Landing some feet away.

Shota fell to one knee, face gritted by pain. "Thanks. Cool quirk. Backup is close by."

"Won't be needed," Harry told him. Eyeing up the Nomu distastefully. To think he had asked Shota to spare these mongrels. "I'll deal with it."

Shota gripped his wrist. Tense as he rose along with the Nomu. "You got lucky with your quirk. It wasn't prepared for it. Now it is. Retreat, I'll hold it off as you get out of here."

Harry cocked his head. Amused and warmed by Shota's protective concern. He patted the man's head and smiled.

A smile that has lips pulled back over teeth.

"This beast hasn't a clue about me, Shota."

The Nomu rasped out a hellish scream that resembled a small child. Yellow, blotched eyes connecting with his own. The thing was pissed. 

"Isn't it cute?" He cooed and charged forwards. The Nomu drew up and went to catch his kick, but stuttered to a confused halt when Harry disappeared.

It toppled forwards. Head kicked clean off like a soccer ball.

As it collapsed, Shota spotted Harry behind it. He himself dropped back to his knees, shaken to his core by the raw brutality of his grinning landlord.

"Well then," Harry breathed. Mood certainly lifted, "would you care for tea?"

.


	4. Four

.

Upstairs in his modest apartments' kitchen, Harry jacked up his smile. Seated at his dining table - a mahogany one, sides carved intrinsically with mountain trolls, goblins, unicorns, thestrals, as many a magical creature Harry could name and then some. These guests would be the first he had ever played host to in this universe. Making it a good one was the goal.

As such, Harry brought out the finest tea available. Leaves plucked by skilled hands of a thousand year old wizard. Milk freshly squirted from a cow in far off Ireland - it being fed the finest grass and pampered regularly.

Harry sniffed the milk and tea. Satisfied.

And just to be safe he slyly magicked up tea pots, cups and saucers he had nicked from Queen Elizabeth. Barmy old lady.

"Here we are," Harry chirped as he brought the tray over to the table. The guests, Harry should mention, were police officers.

Yes, they were here to investigate that nasty business with the Nomu not some hours ago.

"This is very generous of you, Mr Potter," a young officer said. Taking a cup and thanking again as Harry poured him tea and milk when asked. Repeating the action thrice for his parter and Shota.

His neighbour looked rumpled. Dirty, bruised, hair hazardously tied back in a bird-nest bun and arm currently held in a makeshift sling by paramedics. Why he wasn't already in the hospital had Harry concerned. He should really take him there after this is finished.

"Would anybody care for a biscuit?" He asked, just having sat down and rising again at the realisation of no snacks. "Miss Mao down the hall gave me a box of her homemade choc chip a few days ago. Angelic woman, she wouldn't mind me sharing."

"Thank you for the offer, Mr. Potter," the young officer smiled benevolently. "Very kind of you. But we're here to discuss a serious matter and we'd like to get down to it."

"Are you certain you wouldn't like one? I don't mind," Harry was already back in the kitchen, taking out floral decorated plates by Royal Albert and the box of cookies from a pantry.

"For heavens sake," Shota grumbled and marched over. Snatching the box and jabbing Harry back to the table with his knee. "I'll take care of this. Detective Tsukauchi," he ordered the young officer, "start talking!"

"Er," the Detective sipped his tea, "Yes -"

"Detective, are you?" Harry dropped into his seat at the head of the table and stared enamoured at the young man. Looking no older than a university graduate. "That explains why you're in mufti. Why, you're younger than my James!"

"Excuse me? Mufti?" Tsukauchi asked. Smile polite, eyes unblinking.

"I mean no offence!" He shook his head. Propped up in hands as he leant on the table. Eyeing the detective from head to foot - of which he had to slightly wobble in his seat to get proper viewage. "Honestly it's remarkable. You must be a very hard worker. Tell me, do you have any family in the police?"

"Er, no," Tsukauchi said quietly.

"Then you worked your way up all by yourself," again he shook his head and ruminated on this. "What an amazing individual you are. You must come by again for tea."

"Given the current circumstance of me being here I hope not." Said Tsukauchi. Severe.

"Potter," Shota returned with the cookies and plates - balanced on top of one another in one arm - and slammed them down on the table. Visibly disgruntled. "Would you let the man speak."

"Please, Shota," Harry implored the man. Hand on bandaged arm. "Be careful they're delicate."

"You, noobie," Shota turned to the officer taking notes besides Tsukauchi. "Say something."

"Uh," she looked startled at them speaking to her. "I'm just here for the record."

"Detective," Growled Shota.

"Yes, yes." Tsukauchi nodded. Taking one last sip of tea. Wonderful blend. The offer of coming again seemed promising. "Mr. Potter, I'm here to take an incident report for the, well, _incident_."

"It was all done in self-defence, I assure you," Harry said easily. Leaning back in his chair after having plucked a cookie from the opened box. "I took no pleasure in beheading that mongrel." Well now, that was a downright lie. Harry thoroughly enjoyed watching that fragile little cretin's head go pop. Good way to get the old endorphins going.

"Huh. That is good to know, please," the man gestured. Quirk going 'ping'. How curious. "Go over it for us."

So Harry did. Having experience with these sort of proceedings it was over and done with quicker than Shota could believe.

"You'll also have to register your quirk at the local hospital," Tsukauchi told him afterwards. "It appears your immigration documents at the British Consulate Embassy misplaced that information. Nobody could locate it when I called."

"Oh?" Harry hid his smile behind his third cookie, "how embarrassing." For them.

"Out of curiosity," Tsukauchi leaned in. Interest clear. "What is your quirk?"

"Strength. Strong as an ox," he answered firmly. "Pretty neat, yeah?"

"Mmh," the man hummed his sure agreement. "Thank you for your time, Mr Potter. Please don't forget to register at the hospital."

Harry stood with and insisted on letting him escort them out. Neither officer had any opportunity to deny the man who was already opening his front door and ushering them out.

"No cookies, to take on the trip back to the station?" Harry enquired in the lift, "I have a cafe downstairs. You can help yourselves to muffins, cakes, cupcakes, pastries. Anything."

"Er, no," Tsukauchi laughed, "No thank you Mr Potter. We're off to the morgue straight away to get a professional opinion on what exactly the creatures are. Doesn't exactly inspire hunger."

"I assume not," Harry smiled back. Glancing to Shota, he asked, "What are your plans this morning?"

"Sleep."

Shota went to press his floor's button. Harry gripped the hand. "Mmmh," he cocked his head. "You don't look very well. Let me take you to the hospital."

"I'll go tomorrow."

"It's not good to let a broken arm go unseen for so long. I insist."

"He's right, you know." The silent officer put in her two cents. Shota shot her a bloodshot stare. She shrugged. "My Dad's a nurse."

"So you're a professional, are you?" Scathed Shota, immediately regretting it when Tsukauchi gave a chiding look. Harry a disappointed one. "Fine. I'll go."

"Goodie!" Harry enthused just as the elevator doors pinged open. "Have a lovely day, Detective Tsukauchi. Officer Chiho," he called. Leaving the officers in his speedy wake - along with a very confused Chiho, as she never recalled giving him her name.

.

A gift shop stood near the waiting room for families and friends of patients. Flowers of all ranges in colours and collections decorated the outside in wide bulks. Cards. Snacks. Plushies and balloons. Harry examined everything with keen, sparkling eyes while Shota got his arm x-rayed and body checked over.

"Shota Aizawa's Guardian?" A nurse at the reception desk called and Harry danced over. In no way was he Shota's actual Guardian - the man simply put him down as one to skip a troublesome phone-call to a fellow named Yamada.

"Yes. I'm the Guardian," Harry shone a warm smile. "Is everything alright, not going to die is he? I'm awfully attached."

The young lady giggled, "Oh no, sir. But I'm afraid I'm not eligible to give exact details. That's something you would have to ask Doctor Sado," she advised. Instinctively, Harry turned to the doors leading to the ER as they opened. Out walked the presumed Doctor and Shota. Cleaned, bandaged and looking tired as Hell.

That being the souls tortured in Hell. Demons that worked there were overzealous creatures. Harry is fairly certain they're the founders of the drug known as Ecstasy.

"Doctor Sado?" Harry called. "I'm the Guardian. How's our Shota doing?"

"Broken radius, bruised ribs, six stitches on his hairline and mild concussion," Doctor Sado reported. "You should hang around Shota more often. He rarely comes here after a scuffle."

"Oi," Shota warned then stared at Harry. Or to be more precise what Harry was holding. "Is that a plushie?"

"What a relief, the concussion hasn't affected your perception," pleased, Harry handed over the man's gift. A teddybear holding a heart embroidered with 'get well'. "It's only proper." He explained to the man's stupefied look.

"I've given Aizawa his instructions," Doctor Sado interrupted whatever was about to be said, "he's more than used to these proceedings. Well, then," the man bowed. Harry returned it and wished him well. By the time he rose Shota was already out the door. Knuckles white around the bear's head.

"Should I call another cab?" Harry wondered aloud. Simply to diffuse the static air that had been brewing around Shota since they got here.

In a sighful manner, Shota dropped to sit on the steps outside the hospital. Nodding permission for Harry to do so. Droopy gaze stuck on the pink of the sky's morning glow.

"God I'm tired."

"You fought those stubborn creatures," Harry took his own seat next to the man. Crossing his legs as he texted a local taxi service. "And stayed with me during my interview all morning - which you didn't have to. I'm pleased nonetheless for the company." he absently patted the man's arm. "Of course you're tired."

"Yes, thank you for pointing out the obvious. Potter."

"Harry."

Shota turned to his Landlord and asked lamely, "Huh?"

"Harry," he said. Casual as can be. Smile radiant in the sun. "You saved my life. It's fair to say you can call me by my God-given name, Shota."

"I didn't save you," Shota corrected. Mouth ash at the shameful admittance. "You saved me."

"Semantics," Harry flapped a hand. Checking the returned text from the taxi service. "The cab will arrive in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes," Shota sighed again. Head bowed. Body and mind full of led.

"Rest in the meantime, Shota," Harry directed the man's head to rest on his shoulder. Applying a softening charm on it. Too exhausted by the events to throw a glare or refusal, Shota allowed it and fell asleep instantaneously. "You've worked hard."

.

Dressed more appropriately this time in a suit akin to a Victorian Count, Harry decided now or never to speak to his son. Utilising the bathroom door, Harry opened it and stepped into his son's home. In one arm Harry had a bouquet of red and white roses along with a gift card that sang one of Elton John's apology songs. He hadn't looked at his reapers responses to the questionnaire Mai had handed out this evening no ten minutes ago - confirmation text fresh on his phone.

Patience was never his strong suit.

Either this would work or Harry seriously had to resort to plan B which was originally Plan A until just now.

Swanning into the kitchen, Harry was halfway into an operatic greeting when he spotted a slightly familiar face seated at the kitchen table. Blonde hair, blue eyes and that strong pompous aura of heavy prejudice.

This must be Draco's spawn.

The spawn stared at him. Jaw dropping further as Harry got along in his greeting.

Finished, Harry lowered his flower raised arm and pinned a narrowed stare. "What are you doing in James' house?"

The Spawn scoffed and shouted for his son. "Better yet," it spoke, "who in the ever-loving Merlin are _you_?"

"I'm the one asking the questions here, son."

"Son?!" Draco's son guffawed. Flaring to his feet. "You don't look old enough to have sex. Who's calling who _son_?"

Before Harry could tell the little spawn he was old enough to at least create two generations, or three if he was that into it, his son barged into the room through the hallway door. Sodding wet with a Gryffindor alumni towel wrapped around his waist.

"What in the blazing tits is going on here?" He shouted then sobered like he was struck with an enervate spell the moment he laid eyes on his caped father.

Harry boggled at James' appearance, then to Draco's spawn, and back to his son. "You and I are going to have a serious talk later on about morality."

"Just who the fuck is this guy, James?" The spawn rounded the table, placing himself between him and his son.

"Does your father know you're here?" Harry asked the blonde. Grin all teeth.

"I stopped telling my father my whereabouts a long time ago. How about you, kiddo?" The spawn taunted. "Does _your_ father know you're here?"

Harry threw back his head with laughter and stared at the spawn through dark eyes. "Let me know when you ask him."

The man snarled in confusion. "What the heck is that supposed to mean?"

"Morgana give me strength," James breathed and shoved the man aside. He gripped Harry's wrist and dragged him out into the field. "Back in a second Scorpius." Just as the door shut behind. Harry twisted around to stick his tongue out, enjoying the expression he got in return.

James took him to a the green house Ginny made up when the boys were young. Last time he saw it she was pregnant with their third. Harry took a moment to take in the spacious house of flowers, magical herbs and succulents. Most hung from pots Harry had to duck under the further he followed James. He passed vines dancing up wooden beams and flocks of tiny fairies Harry brought back from the first universe he travelled to - pollinating bunches of prosperous flowers. He had forgotten about them.

In the back were a pair of deck chairs. James sat in one. Running his hand through the mop of wet curling hair.

"Before you ask, no. I'm not together with Scorpius."

"Oh thank goodness," Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Seating himself opposite. Shifting a bit to get comfortable. Next time he comes he will definitely bring better seats. These were cheap and atrocious. "I have no issue with you taking up with another man. All fair in love and sex, I say. Just be it not one of Draco's."

"Gee, thanks Dad," James arched a brow. Only now spotting the bunch of flowers and sparkly homemade card. "Please tell me that's for mum's grave."

"Distasteful, son," Harry wrinkled his nose. "They're for you. An apology, for…" He couldn't find the right word. "All of it." He settled.

Uncertain, James took the flowers and card. Opening it the garden house was filled with a symphony of violins and slow piano music. Harry swayed in his seat.

' _What have I got to do to make you love me'_

James snapped it shut. Expression stone. "Is that Elton John?" His voice wobbled. Either from suppressed laughter, sobbing, or anger.

"Your favourite."

"Since _when_?" His voice pitched.

"Er," Harry faltered. "Is it - not?"

"Not!" James shook. "It's Lily's."

"Drat."

Silence imbued between them. James making a small puddle beneath himself. Harry took issue and flicked him with a drying spell. A gust of hot wind slapped his son and Harry watched in shock as it upended him entirely.

"This is why I don't like having you over, Dad." James wheezily told him.

.

"An innocent faux pass," Harry retold what happened with James to Shota. Version being heavily edited, mind you. "We left on civil notes this time though, so I believe Elton John did do its service."

"What?" Shota asked bleary eyed. He had come down to the cafe for an iced Americano before Yamada picked him up on his drive to U.A. Not once did he anticipate Harry dragging him into his family disputes at five thirty in the morning. "Punching your brother is a faux pass?" Said mainly to himself as he looked about to try and spot any other workers, or patrons. None.

Then seriously he asked, "is he even alive?"

"Excuse you?" Harry reared back. Flabbergasted at Shota's cruel question.

"The last time I saw you punch something you sent it flying - and that something was able to withstand Endeavours full throttle fire blast," Shota explained.

"Ah," Harry laughed a polite little laugh people used when hiding something. "Yes. He's very much alive."

"Some family," Shota muttered, thinking he should go back and check the file he had on his landlord. First look didn't reveal any brother. It got the hair on his back on end.

Finally Harry handed him his drink.

"On the house."

"You've got to stop spoiling me," Shota told him with no little ease.

"I spoil who I like," declared the Lord.

Who had punched his brother out.

Shota shook his head, unable to wrap his head around the European guy.

A loud car horn startled him and Shota whipped around to spot Yamada waving from his open sports car. Style was something his friend cared deeply about, and spotting Harry's twinkly gaze; Shota despaired.

.

**Author's Note:**

> please comment and let me know your thoughts, darlings!


End file.
